


Playing Catch

by Damien_Reid



Category: Hoot (2006)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damien_Reid/pseuds/Damien_Reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a cute little story about these adorable boys and how they navigate through their first ever romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing Catch

**Author's Note:**

> They're just so naive!! X>

I f there was only one thing to be said about Roy Eberhardt, it was that he made choices. He never stood in the middle, he saw two ways to go and went. Though he sometimes made choices without realizing it, he still chose. One sunny day in Florida, Roy saw a running boy and made a choice. He chose to chase.

Roy chased that running boy and found him and befriended him. What he didn’t realize when he chose to chase the running boy, was that he’d also chosen to catch.

And in fact he had caught him—

He just didn’t know it yet.

 

Roy didn’t want to call himself impulsive but there really wasn’t another word for it.

He had quite a bad habit of doing things he hadn’t actually meant to do. Kissing Mullet-Fingers was one of those things.

They’d been enjoying a relaxing Tuesday afternoon on the sandbank: the sun, shining; the sky, blue; the ocean, clear as crystal— the perfect day.

Both boys sat waist-deep in the shallow water, leaning against the little speed-boat behind them. Roy, quietly appreciating the contrast of cool liquid and warm light on his skin; Napoleon, pretending to watch various fish flit around them (while sneaking little peeks at Roy) and regaling him with his own version of war-stories.

In the beginning, Napoleon didn’t really say much— usually, it was Roy doing all the talking— nowadays, he couldn’t seem to shut up. He was constantly rabbiting— to Roy, when he was present, and about Roy, when he wasn't. Usually Roy would contribute to the conversation, on that particular day however, he was just a little too tired and a little too comfortable to do anything but listen.

He sat quietly watching Napoleon as he spoke: just a hint of red on the other boy's cheeks (nice rather than concerning). He tracked the way the running boy's— his running boy’s— lips formed every syllable and found himself strangely entranced. Without thinking, he began to lean forward.

Napoleon's eyes were steadily focused on Roy's face and he was transfixed. Roy wasn't clear on his target but he thought: _'Napolean would know, wouldn't he?'_

 Napoleon stopped rambling (and breathing) as Roy continued to move forward. Roy wasn't sure why, but he closed his eyes. He cleared the final inch and pressed their lips together.  


Napoleon froze, tongue-tied, head spinning. A kiss, Roy was kissing him like he'd only ever dreamed. He knew his own lips were chapped but Roy's were soft and smooth, a perfect feather's breath across his skin. He was so shocked he couldn't even blink. He'd known for a while now that he liked Roy as more than a friend, but he hadn't even begun to imagine what he should do about it.

He wanted Roy but he didn't think Roy wanted him in quite the same way. He imagined he was something of an _adventure_ to someone like Roy and everyone knows that adventures end...except, even after their adventure was over, Roy stayed. Roy, who was always moving on, **stayed**. And Napoleon couldn't think of anything more wonderful than the idea of Roy staying. Right then, in fact, would have been the perfect place for Roy to stay. He didn't— obviously— eventually he pulled back.

Roy stared at Napoleon and Napoleon stared at Roy. Neither could quite read the other's face.  


Roy pulled back and opened his eyes. Poor Napoleon was frozen stiff. Roy mused over it for a bit.

A kiss— his very first—gone to a boy with chapped lips and bare feet. He wondered vaguely if he should be panicking, but it had felt so natural that he couldn't be bothered. He realized then that, for a very long while already, his heart was in Napoleon's hands. And just like before, when Napoleon had tried to shake him off, Roy would stick fast and go along for the ride—even if it landed him in hot water. It was with this simple carefree state of mind that Roy smiled and leaned his head against Napoleon's shoulder. After all, what reason did he have not to?  


Napoleon was still too shocked to move. It didn't help that Roy's head was resting on his shoulder, hair tickling his bare skin, or that his kiss still lingered on Napoleon's lips. Did Roy's actions mean he wanted what Napoleon wanted? Or was it just another meaningless impulse? It had to mean what he thought it meant, right? But what if it didn't...what if it was just a one time thing and Roy decided to toss him aside later? Napoleon didn't think he could handle that so he kept his mouth shut and let it be.


End file.
